Where Saint Giles' church stands, once a lazar-house stood; And, chain'd to its gates, was a vessel of wood; A broad-bottom'd bowl, from which all the fine fellows, Who pass'd by that spot, on their way to the gallows, Might tipple strong beer, Their spirits to cheer, And drown in a sea of good liquor all fear! For nothing the transit to Tyburn beguiles So well as a draught from the Bowl of Saint Giles! II. ‘I’ve had enough of this. ‘Who’d believe me? And I’d have to tell my part in it all, too. It did affect the business that they all argued badly and were egotistical in their manners and inconsistent in their phrases. "They're the heaviest set we have,—and were forged expressly for Captain Sheppard. ” “No,” she moaned, “not that. I won’t even ask. I'll talk to her in the morning, but she won't understand what I'm driving at.
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